


When It Matters

by tiger_moran



Category: Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms, Sherlock Holmes - Arthur Conan Doyle
Genre: Drunkenness, Friendship, Gen, Male Friendship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-02
Updated: 2014-09-02
Packaged: 2018-02-15 22:00:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,412
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2244825
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tiger_moran/pseuds/tiger_moran
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Inspectors Gregson and Lestrade drink and discuss Gregson's private life.<br/>(Gregson and Lestrade friendship, also contains vague references to Gregson/Moran)</p>
<p>Written for the prompt by mad-dogs-and-englishmen/VictorianGothic: "Drunken Lestrade and Gregson"</p>
            </blockquote>





	When It Matters

    Begins Lestrade: “Mr Holmes-”

    “Damn the man!” Gregson interjects, nearly upsetting his whisky as he slams his fist down on the table, though he just manages to save the tumbler in time.

    Lestrade raises a dark eyebrow quizzically. “You seem to like him well enough usually, at least when he’s informing you you haven’t made a _total_ hash of your investigations.”

    “I don’t care for him any more than you do.”

    “Well, he has his uses,” Lestrade admits.

    Gregson snorts.

    “And he’s interesting enough,” Lestrade continues.

    “ _Interfering!_ ”

    “He’s given us one or two useful pointers.”

    “Meddling!” Gregson knocks back his whisky in a gulp and promptly reaches for the bottle again. “Infuriating fellow!”

    “Toby.” Lestrade fixes his somewhat unsteady, dark-eyed gaze on the face of his greatest rival and dearest friend. “What has he done now?”

    Gregson eyes Lestrade for a second, although the seriousness of his expression and tone of voice when he next speaks is somewhat marred by his drunken inability to quite focus properly.  “ _He knows_ ,” he says, and takes another swig of whisky.

    Lestrade contemplates this briefly before giving up. “About…?”

    “About _me_. Bloody Holmes and his bloody deductions!”

    “Ah, and, er, so… what did he say, exactly?”

    “He told me to be careful about my choice of companion.” Gregson goes to pour himself another glass of whisky and is immensely disconcerted to find the bottle is empty.

    “Well, it sounds like he’s just concerned for you.” Lestrade watches Gregson rise from his chair with some concern.

    “I’ve _always_ been careful!” Gregson totters over to the cupboard in search of another bottle. Pans and jars clatter together as he rummages determinedly and something else falls over in there but is steadfastly ignored as at last the detective emerges triumphantly clutching an almost full bottle of brandy.

    Lestrade coughs behind his glass of whisky. “Well… I’m not sure that’s _strictly_ true, now is it? I mean this latest…” The sallow little detective tries to think of a way to politely refer to Gregson’s most recent private companion. “Well… this fellow you’ve taken up with…”

    “Is perfectly discreet.”

    “Yes but… well…” Lestrade isn’t quite sure in truth just what is wrong with Gregson’s latest lover (besides his sex making their behaviour highly illegal), only that there is something about the man he doesn’t entirely trust.  Lestrade may have only met him briefly one day as the man was leaving Gregson’s rooms but, well, truth be told, Lestrade thinks the chap had something of the air of a multiple murderer in the making about him – there was that sly, knowing look in his cool blue eyes as he regarded Lestrade that rather sent a little chill through the detective. Not the kind of man Lestrade would ever want to turn his back on but no doubt turning his back to the fellow is something Gregson has done rather frequently. “There’s always a risk.”

    “For god’s sake, Lestrade, there’s a risk in everything. You could walk out of here tonight and get knocked down by a cab; we might go to the yard tomorrow and be sent to deal with armed ruffians quite capable of killing us both. Does that mean we should not do our jobs? Never leave our homes?” Gregson sinks wearily back into his chair, setting the bottle down on the table before putting his head into his hands, resting his elbows upon the tabletop. “I know there’s a risk, damn it, I’m not an imbecile.”

    “I never said you were.” Lestrade carefully reaches across and draws the brandy towards him, trying to manoeuvre it out of Gregson’s reach. A fine thing it will be if Gregson turns up for work tomorrow with a pounding head and reeking of the drink.

    Gregson peers at him, strands of his blond hair spilling through his fingers as he tilts his chin up. “Yet you and Holmes both think you have some right to lecture me upon whom I may see in private.”

    “Come now, it is hardly lecturing you.”

    “All right, comment upon then.”

    “Because I am your friend and Holmes has some respect for you at least, and besides, it is illegal!”

    “Yes, thank you for reminding me of that fact, I had quite forgotten that,” Gregson says, sarcasm positively dripping from his voice. “Pour me another drink, would you.”

    “Haven’t you had enough?”

    “It’s medicinal.”

    Lestrade rolls his eyes slightly but pours more drink into Gregson’s glass anyway. “I simply don’t wish to see you get into trouble, Tobias,” he says. “That’s all, and I suspect really that’s all Mr Holmes wants. He’s a queer fellow, a bit cold-blooded at times certainly, but I don’t believe he means you any malice.”

    “My private affairs are precisely that, private,” Gregson spits. “They are none of his concern and he has no right to stick his beaky nose into my personal life.”

    “Well, perhaps not.” Lestrade takes a swallow of whisky. “But, well, this fellow of yours…”

    “Is irrelevant. It is hardly as if I intend to put on a dress and try to marry the man, now is it?”

    Lestrade finds himself momentarily distracted by the mental image of his tall, well-built, bearded friend in a wedding gown. “Er… right, but you hardly need take such a course to endanger yourself. Are you sure he is entirely… _safe_?”

    The wry smirk that flits across Gregson’s features would imply that ‘safe’ is not wholly something that appeals to him in an intimate companion, which is hardly reassuring to Lestrade. “Safe enough. I do not think you need worry your pretty head that he will murder me while I sleep.” He swigs his brandy down.

    “I was thinking more of blackmail.” Although now that Gregson has mentioned murder Lestrade is reminded of his other concerns.

    “You think he’d risk his own skin to expose Scotland Yard’s finest?”

    “ _One of_ Scotland Yard’s finest,” Lestrade points out.

    Gregson pulls a wry face at this remark. “Now I know you think yourself a fine inspector, and you are, of course you are, I do not doubt that, but really, we both know that I am-” He tries to pour more brandy into his glass and misses it completely, splashing the precious liquid across the table. “Bugger!”

    “All right, no, you’ve had enough.” Lestrade stands up and pries the brandy bottle from Gregson’s hand, although he notices the room is spinning a bit around his own head as he moves.

    “I’ll suck it off the table then!” Gregson announces, and makes an attempt to do just that, though he seems to get more of the spilled brandy on his shirt front than between his lips. “Damn.” He slumps into his chair once more. “It were just… just meant to be a bit of fun, with him.”

    “With your army fellow?”

    “ _Former_ army fellow.” Gregson stares at the table.

    “Yes, well.” Lestrade pulls up a chair closer to Gregson and sits down. “That’s how it always starts out isn’t it, with everything, it’s just meant to be a bit of fun but then… then…”

    Gregson raises his gaze to meet Lestrade’s. “But then you find yourself barely able to see straight and trying to slurp spilled liquor off the tabletop?” He bursts out laughing and Lestrade, finding this infectious, joins in, until the pair of them are quaking with silent mirth and clinging to each other to avoid falling off their chairs.

    “But really…” Lestrade says breathlessly after a time, wiping away tears. “I mean really…”

    Then Gregson gets a fit of the hiccups, which sets both of them off into a round of violent guffawing once more.

   “But… but is it?” Lestrade manages to get out at last, straightening up.

    Gregson hiccups, lets out a long, amused sigh, then hiccups again. “Is it what?”

    “Fun? With him?”

    Gregson chortles again and beams at Lestrade. “Aye, a lot of fun. The things that man knows how to do with his-”

    “Yes, all right!” Lestrade throws up his hands in mock horror. “Just… be careful.”

    “I am.” Gregson hiccups again. “ _Relatively._ Anyway…” Hiccup. “I’ve got you to watch my back, haven’t I?”

   “I can’t always be around for that and certainly not when you’re… you know.”

   “You'll be there when it matters.” Gregson glances across at his friend, his pale eyes meeting Lestrade’s dark ones. He smiles warmly.

    Lestrade reaches over and takes Gregson’s hand, squeezing and holding it momentarily. “Yes, all right,” he agrees. “When it matters.”


End file.
